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Here is a list of keywords people used to reach this blog. I need to do a few more raunchy posts to increase the traffic. The only thing I don’t understand is why on earth people are searching “Anant Vidur Puri”?

So, Nishi told me about this contest where one has to write a story in less that 140 chars (Twitter char limit). The theme of the contest is “Night”. Here is my attempt:

We fought all day long. Then the night enveloped my ego, her ambitions, our love. Sex was good.
or
We fought all day long. Then the night enveloped my ego, her ambitions, our love. Today, I complete my jail-term.

Rain and lightning struck in all their fury but in vain against the thick wooden walls. The whistle of a passing train pierced the night sky buy inside it sounded nothing more than a distant muffled beep. Far from the civilized world, where concrete had not yet replaced the timber (and the din of alarm clocks was not loud enough to suppress the early morning croaks), stood the cottage, probably built by some hermit but now deserted, empty.

When he came there for the first time, it was in ruins. He had renovated it piece by piece in his dozen odd visits spread over the last seventeen years. His arrival was never planned. One day, he would just get up in the middle of the night, board the train and jump in the wilderness near pole number 583. There was no other convenient way to reach this cottage which he lovingly called Hell.

Half-Filled.

There is no absolute truth. It’s all relative depending upon one’s perspective. The storm outside felt like a mere drizzle in comparison to the tornado raging inside his heart. The confused, cacophonous melee of thoughts made his head throb with pain. As soon as he entered the room, it was no longer empty. For not just his body, but his thoughts, his problems, his entire existence invaded the room. As he jumped near the pole number 583, he might have successfully left his home, his family, his work behind but how could one run away from himself. And here alone in the Hell, he had nothing to distract him, nothing to save him from the purgative fire, silently gnawing at him.

Full.

But was the room empty even before he entered it? Air, dust, pollen. He was looking for something else.Voices from a distant past reverberating, rebounding from wall to wall, soothing sounds of the hermit’s chant, passionate panting of a run-away couple’s love-making, frightening frowns of a bandit, his own tired humming after cleaning the floor. Every time someone entered the cottage, he left some indelible imprint of his individuality etched on the walls, not in a vulgar graffiti like manner but in a more subtle, yet more impactive way. He let his soul fill in those sounds, interact with them, scream out its feelings, battle, cut, bruise itself. For sometimes we have to wage a war to get peace. Or as he believed, ‘The road to heaven must pass through Hell.’

In the morning, he again jumped on the train near pole number 583. Another day at the prison hanging people.

How dark is dark enough?
Dark like your kohl lined eyes
Or dark like the clouds on a rainy night
For both have the power to save lives
Both can cause havoc with all their might

How dark is dark enough?
Dark like the echoing wails of a raped woman
Or dark like the scurrilous yelps of the culprit
For both have lost the essence of being human
Both in a renewed search, of a slut, a slit.

How dark is dark enough?
Dark like the ideas in my impious brain
Or Dark like the sea nine fathom deep
For both lay dormant, unexplored, behind a curtain
Both can bring a tsunami as you lay asleep

How dark is dark enough?
Dark like the tears of a martyr’s mother
Or dark like the first drops of rain
For both will bring momentary joy to other
Both will be lost in the deluge, pain

How dark is dark enough?
Dark like the hour just before the dawn
Or dark like the first hours of the night
(Perhaps there is no answer)
For both miss the Sun by just a whisker
None is never dark enough to nibble the light.

P.S. Special thanks to Kriti for the last two stanza and in general, as well. 😛

Started writing with some theme in mind. Ended up writing just two stanza which could well be titled “Short Poems from my Deathbed…”

Life is like a preamble to death
Life is but a painful journey to death,
So why shouldn’t death be a celebration of life,
Like farmers dance in the spring to celebrate their toil,
Life is my mother, death my wife.

Flashes is all I see
Flashes of pain, longing and anguish
Flashes of love, lust and fetish
Flashes of time spent out with you
Flashes of time spent without you.